


Silver in our Lungs

by ceruleansmile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Lot Of Fainting, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Fainting, Falling Castiel, Hurt Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters, Part-Time Hunters, Protective Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleansmile/pseuds/ceruleansmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: To escape the war waging in Heaven, Castiel flees and hopes to find the one person able to return balance to the place that was once the embodiment of peace. However, finding said person turns out to be a lot harder than anticipated with only a limited amount of Grace left to use. </p><p>"Freedom of will was a state an angel was never supposed to reach. A decision made to serve only themselves should be as alien to them as the taste of cheap soda on their tongues and the sensation of fear jolting through their bellies.<br/>Castiel had become very much acquainted with the latter in the past few days."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Featherhead

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created around mid-November. I needed a break from the Star Trek fandom due to various reasons, most of which are private but also to ensure that I would not be running out of ideas.  
> I didn't intend to even post this story, since it was something I wrote for my own enjoyment. However, I recently shared it with Bee, who enjoyed it a lot and I decided to post it both here and on my account on fanfiction.net (alienated-alien).  
> I did my best to beta-read it, as did Bee, but it's very hard to find your own errors and Bee tends to get distracted by 'all the cute stuff'... so I hope it's not riddled with too many errors!
> 
> Enjoy!

****Freedom of will was a state an angel was never supposed to reach. A decision made to serve only themselves should be as alien to them as the taste of cheap soda on their tongues and the sensation of fear jolting through their bellies.

Castiel had become very much acquainted with the latter in the past few days.

Currently, Castiel’s Grace was huddled in the body of a dishevelled looking man. It was the empty shell of twenty-two year old Jimmy Novak, who had lost everything in a fatal car accident and whose soul joined his family by choice soon after Castiel asked for entry.

It had been almost too easy an escape and Castiel was left with a sense of paranoia.

Because, while he had been meant to find the Righteous Man once, Heaven had since changed. Madness had begun to claw its way into every nook and cranny, infesting the most ancient of angels with its miasma. Heaven had turned into a battlefield and it was only a matter of time before the human world would be pulled right into it.

The Righteous Man was meant to bring an end to the waging war. However, now that said man’s presence had become a liability, Castiel’s orders were withdrawn. Because where a war was wanted, a bringer of peace was the enemy.

Wrapping his too thin arms around his middle, Castiel tucked both legs close to his torso. It was an unnecessary action, as an angel, the cold did not affect him. But the exhaustion his descent to Earth had brought upon him coupled with the burden he carried inside sipping away at his Grace seemed to awaken instincts he should not possess. He would need to find a safe place soon, otherwise both of the promises he had made would be broken.

Eyes latching onto the streetlamp standing a few feet further down the sidewalk, Castiel allowed his chin to rest upon his knees. The sparse light illuminated the wet asphalt, chasing bright reflections across the puddles with every flicker.

Mesmerized, Castiel noticed too late the car parking close by. When a pair of heavy boots disturbed his field of vision, Castiel forced himself to look up. A tall man, broad shouldered and shorthaired, stood before him. The stranger’s face was cast in shadows and Castiel frowned. A moment later, Castiel relaxed upon realising that the man before him was human and thus, not a threat.

For now.

“Can I help you?” Castiel asked.

The man snorted and crouched, revealing a symmetrical face. “That’s what I was gonna ask you, buddy. You’ve been sitting here since I first drove by this morning and you haven’t moved an inch.”

“I do not require help.” Castiel tilted his head, the slumbering core of his Grace sparking softly, reacting to the man in a way Castiel could not explain. “Thank you for asking, however. I will continue my journey once I have rested sufficiently.”

 The man shook his head, rain sluicing down his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. “Are you drunk, man? Or do you always sound like a freaking Vulcan?”

“No.” Castiel blinked. “…I do not understand your second question.”

“Doesn’t matter. Listen, since you’ve been sitting here all day I wanted to ask… have you noticed anything weird?” the man’s arm flailed outwards, Castiel followed the motion without thought. “People dancing for no reason, maybe?”

Castiel returned his gaze to the stranger’s face. “You mean to ask me about the Deer Woman, is that right? You will need to act quickly, if you wish to safe those she has enthralled with her dancing. Otherwise, they will follow her to her lair and end up as her next meal.”

The man froze, eyes narrowing. “How do you know that? Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord,” Castiel answered.

“Bullshit.” The man’s eyebrows moved downwards, adding another layer to the shade hiding the colour of his eyes. “Why would an angel just sit around on the sidewalk? You guys haven’t been in contact with humankind for over thirty years now!”

Castiel blinked. “That is not true. We simply chose not to reveal ourselves in the manner we once might have done. Humankind has become… less receptive to the things they cannot explain.”

The man gave a rough chuckle. “Alright, then, featherhead. Why’re you here? I doubt it’s to warn this little town about the Deer Woman.”

“I am here to find a safe place so I may keep a promise to someone close to me. After that, I will need to continue and try to find the one who may stop the growing discord in Heaven,” Castiel watched the man wipe the rain from his face.

It was a futile attempt, seeing as the drops of water were quickly replaced. “Discord in Heaven… isn’t that kind of impossible? I mean, it’s Heaven. Isn’t Heaven supposed to be peaceful and shit?”

“Heaven is not perfect,” Castiel’s gaze dropped to the wet material of his trousers, stretched taut across the bent of his knee. “But you are right. It is meant to be peaceful.”

The man shook his head and pulled a phone from the pocket hidden in the sodden leather of his jacket. The gadget was less advanced than Castiel had seen among the humans passing by his resting place. The device was pressed to the man’s ear a second later, “Sam? It’s Dean, listen. The thing responsible for the dancing? It’s a Deer Woman. Are you and Charlie- okay. Yeah. You’ll need to take care of the lady yourself, I’ve got a bit of a situation here. No, it’s not dangerous. I’m sure. Yeah. Great. You sure you can manage- yeah. See you in a while. Take care.”

The phone vanished back into the confines of the man’s jacket. “Come on, get up.”

“I do not understand.” Castiel moved to stand either way, his response to an order being to follow it, still.

“You said you needed a safe place, right?” the man gestured towards the black car standing by the curb, his other hand pulling a small knife from his pocket. “Give me your arm.”

Castiel obeyed and frowned when the man pushed his sleeve upwards to slice the pale skin of Castiel’s inner arm. A moment later, the man poured water from a tiny vial over Castiel’s hand, then pulled out a flask and repeated the process before rubbing salt over Castiel’s knuckles.

Nothing happened. The man gave a sharp nod. “Alright. Get in the car, I’m taking you to the bunker. If you’re really an angel, you can prove it once we’re there. I’m cold and I could use a hot shower.”

Castiel peered at the wound, the rain water diluting the bright red blood seeping from the gash. Tugging his Grace towards the surface, Castiel willed the wound shut, the bright blue of his true form shining through the damaged flesh before fading once more when the healing was done with.

“…Huh. Guess you really are something. Not sure if it’s an angel, yet, though.” The man began to walk, unlocking the large car and sliding in behind the wheel.

It was only when the car gave a loud honk that Castiel moved to climb in on the passenger side. The inside of the car smelled of wet leather, burnt herbs and gunpowder. The stranger started the car and it came to life with a loud growl as the headlights cut through the veil of raindrops.

“Sorry about this, but it’s necessary.”

Castiel did not move as the man reached for him, a dark red scarf clutched in one hand. The cloth was tied around his head, rough fingers tugging it into place then falling away, leaving Castiel to stare into darkness.

The man seemed quite certain of his own ability to defend himself, should Castiel prove hostile. It was an odd situation and the man’s self-assured attitude forced Castiel into compliant silence.

Castiel clutched the seat involuntarily when the vehicle began to move. He had flown so many miles, faster than any creature on Earth could ever wish to move. Yet, the short distance they travelled in the car seemed to topple Castiel’s immaculate sense of balance, the lack of sight adding to the discomfort.  

When the blindfold was finally removed, Castiel was shocked at how much safer he felt now that he was able to see once more. The man stepped away, dropping the scarf onto a large table made from polished wood. Allowing his eyes to roam about the room he had been lead into, Castiel noted the blanket folded over the side of a sofa and the abandoned cup of tea cooling at the edge of the table. And first and foremost; wherever it was that the man had taken him, it felt safe.

“Is this your home?” Castiel asked, tilting his head.

“Basically, yeah.” The man cleared his throat. “So, you didn’t set off any of the traps or protection sigils. You’re not a demon and you’re not a skin walker. You said you’re an angel, but can you prove it?”

Unwilling to test the man’s patience, Castiel allowed the small amount of Grace he could spare to seep from his pores. Turning the light and air behind him into the barely there image of large, feathered wings, Castiel met the man’s eyes. They were widened in shock and so green, Castiel was reminded of the lush rainforests down in South America. His Grace shook with exhaustion, chasing a ripple through his very being and Castiel felt his wings fade from sight.

“Okay,” the man nodded, running a broad hand over his face. “Okay, an angel, then. Sam’s gonna love this…”

“Who is Sam?” Castiel asked.

“My brother.” The man huffed, peeling the leather jacket off his shoulders.

“And who are you? You have not given me a name to call you by. I do not know who you are or why you asked me to come with you.”

“Name’s Dean. I brought you here because I’m not letting a potentially dangerous creature run around unattended in the middle of an innocent little town.” The man, Dean, discarded his wet boots and gestured for Castiel to do the same. “Come on, you need a shower, too. Or can you… I don’t know, angel mojo yourself dry or something?”

“Angel… mojo?”

“…I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’. Get out of those shoes and follow me, Sam’ll kill me if I let an angel get pneumonia.”

“Angels do not get sick. We are not human,” Castiel said as he complied, removing his shoes and the soaked trench coat clinging to his shoulders.

A sharp edged blade seemed to twist itself into Castiel’s core as he straightened up once again. Brows furrowing at the unfamiliar sensation, Castiel felt his vessel bend forward and raised both hands to press them against his navel. His knees began to tremble and Castiel was forced to shift one arm to catch himself on the corner of the table.

“Wow,” Dean moved, hands coming to rest on Castiel’s back and shoulder. “What now? You okay?”

Castiel was unable to answer, the contact of another living being suddenly too overwhelming to bear. The world tilted, twisted and finally began to turn grey at the edges of his limited, human vision. A second after his vessel’s eyes shut, his inner eyes failed him.

After that, he knew no more.

He regained awareness what seemed like an eternity later. His Grace had replenished itself somewhat and Castiel noted that it had further nestled into the crevices of Jimmy’s body, strengthening the connection between them. Whether this was to be welcomed or not, Castiel was not quite certain of.

His cargo was still safe, pulsating with life. Good.

“-telling you, Sammy, I didn’t do shit. He just keeled over!”

“He’s an angel, Dean, he shouldn’t be affected by illness or any kind of wound. Except those inflicted by an angel blade. And don’t call me Sammy!”

“Yeah, well, maybe we don’t know as much about angels as we thought we do, _Sam_.”

A loud, exasperated sigh was the answer.

Castiel willed his eyes to open, blinking into the dimness surrounding him. His body rested on a couch and there was a blanket tucked haphazardly around him. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Castiel turned his head to look towards the origin of the voices.

Two men were standing by the large bookshelf on the left. One of them was Dean, freshly showered and dressed in comfortable looking clothes. The other was someone Castiel had never seen before, but knew must be Dean’s brother, Sam. It was a little comical to see, since Sam was even taller than Dean and right now they both reminded Castiel of a pair of small children pouting.

“I am neither ill, nor injured,” Castiel spoke up, hoping to dissolve the tension between the two brothers.

Sam jumped and Dean turned to face him. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Featherhead. Care to explain what the hell happened, then?”

“I am not sure. However, I believe it is to do with the fact that I am helping a friend, Samandriel, to become human.” Castiel brushed a hand over the almost dry fabric of his shirt, noting the dirt stains on the hems of his sleeves. “Moving must have aggravated the depleted state of my Grace, which is why I… lost consciousness.”

“Huh. So, if you’re helping your friend, where is he?” Dean asked.

“He-”

“Wait, ‘become human’?” Sam exclaimed, “How-?”

“Samandriel wished to escape Heaven’s current state and we both have… lost our willingness to follow orders meant to cause harm. I was asked to help him reach Earth undetected once his Grace had become a new-born soul. I promised to protect him,” Castiel glanced at Sam. “I do not know how one goes about becoming human. Samandriel is one of the few who consciously made the decision.”

“Yeah, great,” Dean grouched, “I’ll ask again; where is this Samandriel person?”

Castiel hesitated, then decided to offer a half-truth. “He is not here, yet.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, then sighed. “Fine. Alright. Listen, does the debacle happening in Heaven have anything to do with the fact that we’re currently being flooded with calls from all over talking about people vanishing and sightings of supernatural beings?”

A frown wrinkled Castiel’s forehead. “It might be responsible, yes. The equilibrium has been shifted and is thus unstable. I apologise.”

“Not your fault. I hope so, at least.”

“It is not.”

“Good,” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. “You can stay here. But if you pull any kind of stupid shit, like smiting someone, I’ll banish you without even thinking about it twice, got it?”

“Dean is that-”

“Hey.” Dean snapped. “You got to keep your little pet demon until she decided to head back downstairs without me nagging you. If we managed to keep a demon from murdering a bunch of people for fun, I’m sure we can deal with an angel. Now shut your cakehole and show Featherhead over there were the shower is. I’m gonna start making dinner.”

With that, Dean left the room. Sam fidgeted for a moment, then met Castiel’s gaze. He looked young, younger than even Jimmy’s vessel. “Sorry about that.”

“It is alright,” Castiel stood from the couch, a lot more careful than he would have done before the incident. “May I ask… how long have I been here?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, about two hours?” Sam waved his hand through the air in a vague gesture. “Come on, shower’s down the hall.”

Castiel followed the tall man until they stopped in front of a nondescript door. Sam pushed it open, revealing a spacious bathroom. Castiel stepped inside, glancing at the shower, the large bathtub in the corner and the broad mirror above the sink.

“You know how these things work, right?” Sam asked, clearing his throat a moment later in a show of discomfort.

“Yes, I have retained my vessel’s memories although he has left to be with his family in Heaven,” Castiel answered, unbuttoning the front of his shirt.

“Oh, good. Uhm, I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the bathroom door. Towels are in the cupboard under the sink… and... uh, I’ll… go now.” The door clicked shut behind Sam and Castiel was left to his own devices.

Showering turned out to be a rather pleasant thing to do, once Castiel managed to find a temperature just this side of boiling hot. While he, as an angel, could not feel cold, his true form could be equated with the lethal fire of the sun itself. Castiel was not sure how long he stayed beneath the spray of the shower. However, by the time he was done dressing himself, Dean and Sam were both sitting at the table, eating.

“There you are, Sam thought you might have drowned yourself by accident,” Dean quipped.

Castiel tugged the too-large shirt into place and pulled the pair of sweatpants back over his jutting hipbones. “I am quite capable of using a shower.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean waved him off. “Sit down, will you?”

Castiel complied and wondered why he felt compelled to do so once more. Ever since Castiel had turned his back on Heaven’s elders the need to obey each and every order had vanished, but with Dean, he did not feel the usual compulsion. It was like his Grace wanted to desperately prove itself to Dean, overriding Castiel’s mind with almost childlike enthusiasm whenever the man asked something of him.

“You want some, too?” Dean gestured at the pot in the middle of the table, filled with a steaming, reddish liquid. “It’s tomato soup.”

“No, thank you. Angels do not require food,” Castiel answered. “There is, however, something I wanted to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

Castiel blinked in confusion. “…Why would I shoot at you?”

“Figure of speech, Featherhead, it means ‘go on’.”

“Ah,” Castiel nodded. “Very well. I wanted to inquire if you two are Hunters.”

“Part time,” Dean answered, sipping at the spoonful of soup in his hand. “We’re Men of Letters first.”

“Dean!” Sam set the spoon back into his bowl. “You know we’re not supposed-”

“Chill, Sammy. Who’s he gonna tell? I blindfolded him, he doesn’t even know where the hell he is.”

“Still-”

Castiel huffed. “I will not betray your trust. I need a safe place and it would be foolish of me to endanger those who are providing me with one. And Dean is right. There is no one I know who would have need of this information. The last time the angels contacted the Men of Letters was almost twenty-five years ago, I believe, and no one remembers why anymore since the angel who ventured down never returned.”

“See?” Dean said, shrugging. “And if he betrays us, we’ll just lock him in the cellar. We’ve dealt with a lot of other shit already, Sam.”

“Since when are you so calm about these things, Dean?” Sam asked, dropping a piece of dark bread into his soup.

“Since I realised that most of the things we hunt are actually scared of us,” Dean smirked.

“Which is why you refused to let me come along when you and Benny took down that Vampire nest two months ago,” Sam reached up to push his hair away from his forehead.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“Dean-”

“Sam. I trusted you when you dragged that demon lady in here. Now shut your mouth and eat.”


	2. Snowfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I intended to post this chapter in two weeks time, but decided it didn't matter, considering how long I have been writing this story already! I weeded out every error I could find, but you are free to tell me if there are major ones you have noticed!   
> All in all, I hope you will enjoy this chapter!

The next morning dawned in cotton-wrapped silence. Even before Castiel moved to look out of the high windows he was aware that snow had fallen over night. Neither Sam nor Dean had woken yet and Castiel realised that he must have lost consciousness at some point, since there was a distinctive amount of time missing from his memories. His Grace was still dwindling, unable to strengthen itself in time to counteract the almost parasitic way it was drawn away. 

The windowpane was cold beneath his fingertips and his breath fogged the glass as he leaned in closer to peer at the snow covering the landscape.  The floor was cold against his naked feet and the sweatpants he had been given kept on slipping downwards. It gave him the exasperating task to continuously pull it upwards to avoid exposing himself.

Footsteps prompted Castiel to step away from the window, turning around to find Dean shuffling into the kitchen. Dean had pulled a thin dressing gown over the clothing he had donned yesterday. His short hair was pressed flat against the left side of his head while a spider web of pressure marks made itself visible on one cheek.

Not even sparing Castiel a glance, Dean shuffled past and Castiel followed him into the large kitchen. Halting in the doorway, Castiel watched the man prepare a large mug of coffee for himself. There was a sluggishness to Dean’s movements that spoke of fatigue and a desperate need for caffeine.

As soon as Dean had taken his first sip from the dark beverage, his eyes cleared and he turned to look at Castiel. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel answered.

“Good. You fainted on us again during dinner.” Dean set down the mug after another gulp of hot coffee. “You sure you wanna stay down here? Looks to me like it’s not healthy for you.”

“I cannot return, I have betrayed the Elders by leaving Heaven and shielding Samandriel to aid his escape. They would wipe me from existence as soon as I set foot in Heaven,” Castiel shifted from one foot to the other. “I apologise for burdening you with my presence.”

“It’s fine. It’s our job to make sure you don’t kill someone on accident. You also told us about the Deer Woman and saved eight people from getting their eyes torn out.” Dean shrugged. “Anything we can do to help?”

Castiel blinked. “You would help me?”

“If it stops all those monsters from crawling out underneath kids’ beds, sure.”

“…There are only two kinds of-”

“I know. It was an expression,” Dean waved his hand through the air and then reached for the coffee mug again. “So? Can we help or not?”

“You… may be able to help me. I need to find the Righteous Man. They are the only one who can put an end to what is happening. Although I am not quite sure what further consequences the unbalanced state we are in will bring.”

“Righteous Man?” Dean muttered against the edge of the mug. “And you’re searching for the guy on Earth? What can a human do?”

Castiel tilted his head. “You underestimate your kind, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Dean shook his head. “Alright, whatever. How’re we supposed to help you? Should we drive you around until your angel sense goes off and you find that Righteous Man of yours?”

Castiel frowned. “Before I left for Earth, I was able to pinpoint the Righteous Man’s position and believed them to be here. However, I do not know if they are still in this place nor if what I felt was-”

“Okay, I get it. You can tag along when we go on hunts. That way we won’t waste fuel for nothing,” Dean rubbed his free hand down his face, palm scraping over the slight stubble covering his cheeks.

“Thank you.” Castiel nodded.

Dean grunted.

The kitchen grew quiet. For a long while, neither of them spoke until Castiel was forced to step aside to allow Sam to step past him. The younger man looked even less awake that Dean had, hair tousled and shirt rucked up over his abdomen. A pair of bright red socks peeked out from beneath Sam’s sweatpants, adding a childlike charm to the overall image.

Once Sam had been provided with a mug of coffee, he lumbered back out of the kitchen. Left alone with Dean anew, Castiel wondered about the sudden sense of discomfort that prompted him to fiddle with the bottom of the worn shirt swamping Jimmy Novak’s slight frame.

“I put your other clothes in the wash, by the way.” Dean’s voice startled Castiel out of his musings. “They should be dry by now.”

Castiel inclined his head. “Thank you, again.”

“So,” Dean finished his mug. “Why exactly is it that you guys up there are having issues? Shouldn’t God or whoever is in charge up there take care of this thing?”

“Father has… gone missing. The oldest Archangels have been taking care of the situation to keep everyone in line. However it seems like, without guidance, an angel unused to free will should not be trusted with making decisions on their own.”

Dean snorted. “And you? Who taught you to think for yourself?”

“My older brother. He has always been… a rebel, of sorts. But he, too, has been missing for a while now. I do not know how long, time in Heaven is… complicated.” Castiel wrapped his arms around his middle, finding comfort in the self-soothing gesture now that he was unable to hear his brothers and sisters voices due to his diminishing Grace. “I do not have much time to find what I am searching for. Do you know when your next Hunt will be?”

Dean did not comment on his obvious attempt at changing the topic, instead the man moved to wash out his coffee mug. “Considering that we’ve gotten a call almost every week for three months now, it shouldn’t be long ‘till we need to head out again. Just a warning, we might be on the road for a few days. You think you can handle that?”

“Why would I not be able to ride in your vehicle?”

“Because when I brought you here, I thought I was going to have to scrub puke off my leather seats at some point.”

Brows furrowed, Castiel opted not to respond to the taunt. “Will you explain to me why you have taking to Hunting although you are both Men of Letters?”

“Dad’s side of the family were all part of the Men and Women of Letters. My Mom’s from a long line of Hunters. Since people tend to need actual help instead of just being told how to decapitate a vampire for example, Sam and I decided to take up Hunting,” Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest, the thin dressing gown pulled taut over his broad shoulders.

Castiel furrowed his brows. “Humans feel safer when surrounded by others. The larger cities caused a decline in supernatural activity similar to the way animals retreat further away from their former homes when invaded by your kind.”

“Yeah, problem is, there’s still small towns scattered all over, and some monsters actually love the larger cities. And you have no idea how influential movies can be. Dad was pissed because Mom missed their anniversary dinner hunting down a bunch of ghosts some idiots woke using one of those stupid Ouija Boards after watching that Poltergeist movie.”

“Your mother is a Hunter?”

“Sometimes she was. Gave up when she got pregnant with me.” Dean’s mouth turned downwards and Castiel tilted his head when the man’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Why’re you asking so many damn questions?”

Castiel wanted to inquire further but decided aggravating Dean further was not worth satisfying his curiosity. He shook his head, averting his gaze. “I do not know a lot about humans. My apologies.”

Dean scoffed and moved, pushing past Castiel to exit the kitchen. Aware that he might have overstepped a boundary, Castiel remained where he was. It was clear that, while Dean believed his story to an extent, the man also knew Castiel did not tell him everything there was to tell. Trust was a hard thing to earn and Castiel realised that Dean’s trust was even harder to come by. The question was; did he require for Dean to trust him, especially when the man was so quick to anger?

Moving towards the small table tucked underneath the window to the side, Castiel lowered himself onto one of the chairs surrounding it. By the velocity of which his powers were fading, there was but a month of time left before his Grace would fail him. The small glimmer growing within the core of his very being would need to be extracted before that particular scenario could occur.

Castiel refused to lose another person close to him. Gabriel’s disappearance had already torn a chasm into what humans would call his ‘heart’. Because, while angels were loyal to their brothers and sisters, emotional connections were not formed as easily between them as they were between humans. Gabriel had been the one Castiel looked to when he found himself lost, the only one who did not chide him for his fascination with all things Earth bound. When Gabriel’s golden light vanished from Heaven, Castiel spent a small eternity trying to find him.

He had found Samandriel instead. Younger than even Castiel, Samandriel had expressed his fear towards the new order in Heaven and shown Castiel the memories he had made exploring Earth in secret.

Fingertips brushing over the small dents and cuts covering the polished table top, Castiel pressed his other hand to the skin above his bellybutton.

“You did that yesterday, too.”

Twisting around in his seat, Castiel met Sam’s sheepish gaze.

“What do you mean?” Castiel inquired.

“That,” Sam turned to gesture at Castiel’s middle. “You touched your stomach before you fell unconscious at dinner. Are you hurt? Do you, uh, want me to have a look?”

“I am not injured.”

“Yeah, you said so last night. But you’re hurting, right? Is it… some kind of curse? Can angels be cursed?” Sam abandoned his mug on the counter and moved to sit opposite Castiel, “I mean, you said you’re immune to illnesses, so it’s not like you ended up with a stomach bug or anything.”

Castiel peered at the water stains lining the edge of the table. “It is not a curse. When the time comes, I will tell you. But for now, I must ascertain that I am safe.”

“Is it dangerous?” Sam leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the same curiosity that Castiel had experienced whenever he questioned Gabriel about his trips to Earth.

“Only for me. You are not in danger.”

Sam’s eyes turned sombre and Castiel noted that they were not the same vibrant shade of green as Dean’s. “How dangerous is it? Is there nothing we can do to help you? Like, make the pain go away, maybe? I could see if there’s anything in the books down in the library, if you want?”

It surprised Castiel just how different the two brothers were. Where Dean was gruff and practical, asking the questions he wanted answered without preamble, Sam was gentle and seemed to blurt out whatever inquiry managed to find the way to his mouth first.

“I doubt there is anything to be done,” Castiel said. “But I appreciate the effort, Sam.”

A smile curved Sam’s mouth upwards and caused his nose to twitch. “Okay… I’ll go get dressed now.” With a quick nod, the young man exited the kitchen, leaving Castiel to himself once more.

“We’ve got a case,” Dean snapped when Castiel left his seat by the kitchen window an hour later to join the two brothers in the living room. “Your clothes are over there, get dressed-” Dean turned away to yell down the hallway leading to the shower, “Sammy! Move your ass, we don’t have all day.”

“I know! I just need to find that book on warding spells! Give me a minute!”

Dean grumbled and stalked away into the direction of Sam’s yelling.

Instead of asking where they were going and what it was they would be Hunting, Castiel walked towards the sofa where Jimmy Novak’s clothes had been folded into a neat pile. Removing the sweatpants and pulling on the pair of well-worn jeans, Castiel questioned his own sanity. Would he even be able to recognise the Righteous Man in the state he was currently in?

Castiel shook his head to himself, pulling Jimmy’s thick sweater over his head before reaching for the socks. Those proved a little difficult to put on, especially when it came to dragging them over his heels. The boots, at least, were quicker to deal with. Upon standing, Castiel found Dean plodding towards him, holding out a thick parka.

“Put that on, it’s snowing again.”

Castiel frowned. “Angels do not-”

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t get cold. But trust me, people are gonna look at you funny if you trudge around wearing nothing but a damn sweater in this weather,” Dean grunted, throwing the heavy material around Castiel’s shoulders. “Now hurry up and stop questioning everything I do. You want us to help you, you play by my rules, okay?”

Offering a quick nod, Castiel did not protest when Dean wrapped a familiar red scarf around his head. Effectively blind, Castiel allowed Dean to grab onto his arm and tug him along. Twice he almost stumbled but Dean’s grip was as tight as it was steady.

The backseat was a little less comfortable than the front seat Castiel had occupied the first time. The door beside him was slammed shut and a moment later, the driver’s side door also snapped closed.

“Alright, Sammy, where are we going?” Dean asked and Castiel dug his nails into the leather seats when the vehicle began to move.

“Stop calling me that, Dean. Bobby said there’s been a number of weird occurrences in Pennsylvania. Warren County… the town’s named Warren, too.”

“Pennsylvania- that’s going to take a while,” Dean groaned. “Great. You want to switch driving every few hours or just get a motel at the halfway point to get some shut-eye?”

“It sounded pretty urgent, uh, so, maybe the first option is the better one,” the sound of a map unfolding drowned out the rumble of the engine for a moment. “So, get this; two months ago, Bobby got a call from an old friend who told him that two of her younger students kept coming to school with odd bruising on their shoulders and upper arms.”

A scoff from Dean’s side “Sounds kind of like a case of bad parenting to me, Sammy. Either that or she should keep a better eye on those kids, who knows what they get up to during break.”

Never had Castiel felt as much like an intruder as he did now. Even though he could not see he was able to discern the good-natured teasing in Dean’s voice and the fascination colouring Sam’s speech. Their interaction was a painful reminder of the fact that Castiel had, essentially, left his family behind.

However, his priorities had shifted. If the Righteous Man was not found in time, Castiel could only imagine what consequences the imbalance would drag along. And Earth would, without a doubt, be overrun with all kinds of vile creatures as soon as those occupying the very depths of Hell realised that Heaven’s integrity had been compromised.

Sam huffed, the sound expressing a clear level of annoyance. “Let me finish. At first she thought it was domestic abuse, too, but more and more children started showing the same marks and always in the same areas. Not a single one of the children could remember where they got them from. Bobby drove down to investigate but couldn’t find anything. The bruising stopped appearing and that was that.

“Yesterday, she calls again and tells him that the bruising reappeared and two students told her about a strange woman following them all the way home the day before. When she asked what the woman looked like, they said they were too frightened to look. ”

“Alright… so, that’s definitely not normal. Any idea what we’re dealing with?”

The creaking of old leather told Castiel that Sam had shifted in his seat. “Not yet, no.”

A sigh. “Alright. We’ll consult Dad when we get there, maybe he has an idea.”

“Yeah. Hey, can we take the blindfold off Castiel, yet? He looks kind of green around the gills and we’ve already left the town behind.”

“What? Oh, yeah.”

Muscles tense and toes curled, Castiel waited for the scarf to pull free from his face. Blinking, he found himself looking at Sam’s concerned face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You okay? Do we need to stop for a second?” Sam gestured towards the side. “Do you need to take a breather?”

Castiel shook his head. “I am fine. Do not worry.”

“Yeah, Sam, stop mother-henning him, he’s a grown angel,” Dean snarked and turned the volume of the radio higher, successfully preventing all attempts at further communications.

They drove for four hours before Dean stopped the car at a rundown gas station to refill the tank. The journey continued, with Sam behind the wheel this time. At some point, Castiel felt his consciousness fade and when he opened his eyes again, the sky had grown dark.

The car was no longer moving and he noted that he was actually lying down, stretched out across the hard rear bench seat. Someone had removed his boots and placed a rolled-up shirt beneath his head to cushion it. It was quiet. He was alone.

There was a weakness about his limbs that should have scared him but more than not made him want to close his eyes again. A strange symbol above his head caught his attention, barely distinguishable from the dark interior of the car. Cold air hit his socked feet when the car door closest to them was torn open and he found himself pulled into a sitting position by a pair of rough hands. “Featherhead? You awake, yet?”

“I was not sleeping,” Castiel muttered, urging his muscles to keep his head from lolling so he could meet Dean’s exasperated gaze.

“Sure you weren’t.”

“Why was I lying down?”

“Because your head kept hitting the window. Come on, get up, it’s five-thirty in the morning and I wanna sleep in a bed and not a car,” Dean removed his hands and Castiel was quick to follow the man’s orders.

The motel room was small, but clean. There were two beds and a cot available, the latter of which Castiel decided to make use of, seeing as Dean had spoken of wanting to sleep in a bed. Sam was already asleep on the bed closest to the window, the duvet barely covering his legs as if he had lost interest halfway when pulling it over himself.

Castiel settled on the edge of the cot, watching Dean remove his boots and jacket before flopping down across the remaining bed. A low, pleased groan escaped the Hunter’s mouth before the man’s entire body grew limp. Five minutes of silence later, Dean’s breathing evened out.

For a long while, Castiel did nothing but listen. To the quiet snores emitting from Dean’s half-open mouth, the grunts Sam uttered whenever he shifted on the bed. Averting his eyes from the steady up and down motion of Dean’s back, Castiel finally noticed the various spells scattered about the room.

Each was of a vaguely hexagonal shape and Castiel noted that he had seen a similar symbol in the car. A mere moment after that first realisation, Castiel registered what it was that he was looking at. Warding spells; and not just any kind but those meant to keep angels from detecting a certain location and whoever was inhabiting it.

The sigils were designed to weaken angels, drawing power to confuse their senses and thus turning their own powers against them. Castiel was inside the spell, of course, but its dampening effects affected him still, if only slightly. It was no wonder he kept on losing consciousness, considering how weak he already was.

Relieved and grateful about the lengths the two brothers went to keep them hidden from Heaven’s all-seeing eyes, Castiel leaned down to unlace his boots. Once he had removed the heavy shoes from his feet, he wrangled the parka off his torso and proceeded to lie down to ease the ache pulsing through his borrowed body. Outside, it began to snow again.


	3. Scratchmark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be posted next week, however, I will likely have no time then, due to family issues. I hope everyone who read the first two will enjoy this one, too. :)  
> Have fun reading!  
> Edit: I AM SO SORRY. I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THE FOURTH INSTEAD OF THE THIRD CHAPTER. I APOLOGISE! I shall slink off in eternal shame now.

For all that Dean was snappy and downright allergic when it came to displays of affection, he did spend an almost ridiculous amount of time wrapping scarves around Sam’s throat. Castiel was unsure whether Sam’s whining was due to the embarrassing situation or the fact that Dean kept on nagging about the length of his younger brother’s hair. Whatever the reason, Castiel decided not to inquire in regards to it.

“Let’s get going.” Dean stepped away from Sam. “Who’re we meeting again?”

“Olivia Wilson. She’s the elementary school teacher that called Bobby,” Sam answered, a thick and worn-looking notebook tucked against his chest as he fumbled with his phone.

“Right.”

Warren had turned out to be a relatively large city, peppered with a delightful amount of snow laden trees. A broad river ploughed through the frozen earth just outside the city perimeters, separating Warren from the thick forest close by.

The snowfall had covered the entire town in a thick, white blanket. Within seconds the bottoms of Castiel’s jeans were wet, but his boots held strong and kept his feet warm and dry. He followed Sam and Dean into a small café just around the corner. They settled in a secluded booth in the very back, where Dean ordered coffee for all of them as soon as the waitress teetered past their table.

Castiel did not dare touch the mug once it was placed in front of him. The black liquid inside looked less than appetizing. Instead, he pushed the offending drink towards Dean when he noticed how quickly the Hunter had emptied his own mug.

“Sam,” Castiel turned towards the younger man sitting beside him on the hard, wooden bench, intent on asking the question that had gnawed at him for a while, “May I ask how you came to know the sigils in the motel room? And the one in your car?”

“Huh?” Sam blinked, then smiled, “The Men and Women of Letters tend to collect a lot of things, knowledge mostly. I found a bunch of books on angels. That’s where I found the warding spells. They’re in the Bunker, too, I noticed when I searched the library. Are they working? Can you tell?”

“I believe they are partly responsible for my fainting spells. The sigils are constructed in a way that weaken angels to strengthen themselves.”

“Oh,” Sam’s face fell and a contrite look stole across his features. “Sorry, I didn’t think it’d affect you, too. I can try modifying them or find something else-”

Castiel shook his head. “No, that is alright. I am grateful you took the time to research these things, Sam. Thank you.”

“Are you two lovebirds done flirting?” Dean drawled, looking a little more awake after his second mug of coffee but no less disgruntled. “You don’t have to thank us for every little thing, Featherhead. It’s our job and it won’t do us any good if you end up killed.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed. “Can you be a little less abrasive?”

“You’re abrasive.”

Sam snorted and even Castiel knew that that had been a very weak comeback. Ten minutes of bickering went by before a middle-aged woman stepped towards their table, her black hair wet from the snow melting in the thick curls. The few lamps illuminating the dim interior of the small café brought a gleam to her dark skin and a twinkle to her eyes. “You two the Winchester boys?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, a lopsided smile brightening his face. “You’re Olivia Wilson, then?”

“Last time I checked,” the woman’s mouth curved into a soft smile. “Tone down the grin, boy, I got a son your age.”

Castiel wondered why that information was relevant but it did seem to work as Dean ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean anything by it.” The grin returned without warning, a little more mischievous this time, “But, maybe, you can introduce me to your-”

“Dean!” Sam groaned. “Do you have to do that _every_ time?”

“What? I was just kidding!”

Castiel blinked. Dean’s fluctuating personality threatened to give him a headache. The man went from gruff, to jokingly affectionate within the span of seconds. At least Sam’s reactions to certain situations were more or less predictable. But Dean…

Castiel wondered if it was his presence that caused Dean’s consistently bad mood. At first, he had attributed Dean’s behaviour to the fact that Castiel was a stranger, but seeing Dean interact with a woman he had only just met like she was a friend was confusing.

“Alright, alright,” the woman, Olivia, sat down beside Dean. “No fighting, kids.”

Her gaze landed on Castiel, but she did not seem to mind his presence as she turned her attention away seconds later, without inquiring as to why Castiel was among them. Perhaps she thought him trustworthy, since Sam and Dean dared to take him along. Or, maybe, she was simply not aware that Mr and Mrs Winchester had only produced two sons, not three.

Dean and Sam finally ceased their squabbling, their faces growing solemn. Dean cleared his throat. “Right. So, Bobby said you’ve been noticing strange bruising on your students again. Anything more you can tell us?”

Olivia nodded. “It’s not only bruising… there’s been a few cases of skin being punctured now. Also, the two students who informed me of the woman following them home… they said that the woman returned and stalked them all the way to school yesterday. She kept poking them with something sharp but both were too scared to turn around and look at her.”

“To be honest, it kind of sounds like some crazy lady walking around harassing little kids with her walking stick,” Dean said.

“I also found this,” Olivia tugged a battered phone from her pocket, larger than Dean’s a lot more modern, too. “This is the wall I painted with my students.”

She activated the screen, swiped her hand across it and placed it onto the table top. A picture of a colourful wall became visible, covered in myriads of handprints in every colour imaginable, a work clearly done by children. Among the handprints, however, were a frightening number of claw marks. Scratches in pairs of three sliced through the paint, leaving deep gouges in the concrete beneath.

“That is definitely not good,” Dean muttered. “But it might not even be related to the other things happening.”

Olivia rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, body heaving with a sigh. “I realise that, boy. And the kid’s already noticed them, too. The littlest ones talk about a monster and the older ones about a werewolf roaming the forests close by,” she shook her head, hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers, “I even asked around if anyone had noticed a suspicious woman lurking by the school entrance, no one could give me a straight answer. I just want to know my students are safe. They shouldn’t be too scared to walk home by themselves in bright daylight.”

It was clear that the teacher was frightened by the thought of something sinister stalking her precious students. Castiel could not imagine the terror Olivia must have felt when she first realised that, whatever was hurting the children, might be less easy to deal with than an unruly classmate. Maybe even more difficult to handle than an abusive set of parents.

Dean gave a single, sharp nod. “We’ll figure out what’s happening. Even if it turns out to be nothing but a crazy lady with a walking stick and freakishly long nails.”

Chuckling, Olivia reached out to pat Dean’s arm, eyes crinkled with mirth. “Thanks, boys. I’ll be going now, I’ve got a husband with a broken leg at home. Absolutely useless that man, I’m telling you.”

“Sam’s the same when he’s got a cold,” Dean grinned.

Beneath the table, Castiel felt Sam’s legs move and a pained yelp from Dean told him that the older brother had just received a violent kick to the shin. Olivia’s laughter rang through the café before she covered her mouth with one delicate hand. Shaking her head, Olivia prompted the two brothers to settle down. “No need to aggravate the staff, boys. I’ll be going now. Take care of yourselves and please,” she slipped a small piece of paper across the table towards Dean, “Call me if you have news.”

With that, Olivia stood and, with a soft ‘goodbye’, left the café.

Sam had finished his coffee and was now flicking through his notebook, forehead wrinkled in concentration. Leaning closer, Castiel peered over Sam’s shoulder to see what the book contained. Pages covered in Sam’s tight script were interspaced with crude sketches of all kinds of creatures and supernatural objects alongside myriads of protection spells in a multitude of languages.

“Doubt you’ll find anything in your own notebook, Sammy,” Dean said, drawing Castiel’s attention away from Sam. “You read a lot, but I doubt you jot down every damn monster you come across.”

“No, but… something about this sounded familiar,” Sam sighed and shook his head.

“What about you, Featherhead.” Dean waved his hand through the air. “Any ideas, yet?”

“Unfortunately, no. I believe, whatever is causing this, is either a very reclusive creature which I have never before heard of or something… new. At least, new to me. It might not even be of supernatural origin at all,” wrapping his fingers over the edges of his parka’s sleeves, Castiel met Dean’s eyes. “However, I believe I will be able to detect if something non-human is responsible for these attacks. If that is any consolation.”

“You don’t need to help us, Castiel. You should concentrate on finding the Righteous Man. That’s what’s most important, right?” Sam smiled and Castiel inclined his head in response. “Don’t worry so much. This is our job, after all.”

Dean scoffed but did not open his mouth to express his opinion. Smacking a handful of money onto the table, Dean instead stood and gestured towards the door, “Let’s get going. There should be a library around here for you to go to, Sam, and I want to check if I can find any more of those scratch marks around the school.”

“Do we split up?” Sam asked as he scooted off the bench to stand.

“Might be better, we’d be done a lot quicker for sure. You taking Featherhead with you?”

“Shouldn’t he be around people so he can… you know, figure out if the Righteous Man is here?”

“About that,” Dean’s eyes were narrowed when he turned to look at Castiel, “How long until your angel mojo runs out? You’re already weaker than a baby deer.”

“I have regained some of my strength now that I have rested and am no longer exposed to the warding spells,” Castiel answered, pushing his hands into the deep pockets of the parka enveloping his body. “I feel a slight pull, but I am uncertain where it is attempting to guide me.”

“Great, that’s good. At least we won’t end up asking random people if they’re the Righteous Man.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

In the end, Dean grudgingly agreed to allow Castiel to tag along, instead of leaving him to sit in the library with Sam. The short walk to the elementary school was spent in silence, broken only by the few cars passing by.

The school turned out to be a large building surrounded by a concrete wall. The handprints from Olivia’s photo were scattered close to the front gate, unnaturally bright against the snow-covered surrounding area. Castiel settled close to a streetlamp, waiting as Dean inspected the large marks scarring the wall.

“These are pretty deep…,” Dean mumbled as he inched along the wall. Five minutes later, the man gave an exclamation of triumph. “Hah!”

Fingers scrabbling over a spot just beneath a green handprint at chest height, Dean managed to excavate his discovery from the concrete and turned to present it to Castiel. “Look at this shit. Any idea what that could’ve belonged to?”

Castiel moved closer. The claw was about as long as his middle finger, curved and the colour of a polished gun. The tip was dulled from use and almost black due to age. Furrowing his brows, Castiel shook his head slowly, “It reminds me of a Lamia’s claw, but it is much too long and not the right colouration.”

“Huh,” Dean sighed. “Well, at least we found something.”

“It surprises me that Mrs Wilson did not find it first,” Castiel replied.

“Probably didn’t see it. I mean, those marks are already pretty jarring and the claw was lodged kinda deep into the wall. Would’ve overlooked it too if I didn’t brush my fingers over it by accident,” Dean peered down at his nails, humming.

“Do we continue searching?” Castiel held out his hand when Dean offered the claw to him, allowing the Hunter to drop it onto his palm. “What do I do with this?”

“Keep it safe until we get back to Sammy.” Turning on his heel, Dean gestured for Castiel to follow. “Come on, let’s see if there’s more we can find. Doubt whatever this thing is stays in one place while waiting for the kids to get out of school. We should check if there’s another spot it hangs out at.”

Not wanting to be left behind, Castiel stuffed the claw into a pocket and hurried to follow the Hunter. Dean had already rounded the corner when Castiel reached him, finding the man staring at a number of oddly placed indentions in the wall. They were not scratches this time, but similar to a cluster of bullet holes. A strange, gel-like substance had dried and frozen around the edges of each hole, turning the concrete it touched a sickly green.

Castiel frowned. There was something nagging at the back of his head, but every time he attempted to reach for it, it slipped away. Something about this situation appeared familiar, like he had heard about it somewhere before, but Castiel was unable to piece the puzzle that each new find represented together.

Dean huffed and raised his phone to snap two, three pictures of the damaged wall before continuing his journey. Castiel shuffled along, slower this time when he felt a familiar shudder of pain ripple through his Grace. For a moment, Castiel ceased moving, forcing his vessel’s knees to stop their incessant shaking to keep him standing. The excruciating twisting in his centre ended a mere second after it began, leaving a nauseating numbness behind.

“Hey!” Dean’s voice seemed muffled by the falling snow. “What’re you waiting for, Featherhead? A written invitation?”

Unsure how to respond, Castiel shook his head and proceeded towards the blurred silhouette waiting further down the sidewalk. It took a few blinks before Castiel’s human eyes were functioning on an acceptable level once again and by then, he had reached Dean. “My apologies.”

“No problem. You okay?” Dean gestured vaguely at him. “You’re doing the stomach thing again.”

Glancing down at himself, Castiel was surprised to find that, yes, he was indeed pressing both hands against his abdomen. It took conscious effort to lower them, “I believe I am not yet used to this vessel. Moving quickly seems to be causing me discomfort.”

“…You get sick when you run?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should get you back to the motel,” Dean said, a steep crease between his furrowed eyebrows, “You can lie down and I’ll call Sammy to tell him what we found.”

“That is not necessary, Dean. I am fine now,” Castiel pushed both hands into the parka’s pockets to keep them away from his middle. “We may continue our search.”

“Listen, Featherhead, it won’t do any good if you faint out here. Let’s go back to the motel, it’s not like we can do a lot with the stuff we found right now, anyway.” Dean rubbed his hands together with a huff. “It’s also really damn cold and I could use some food.”

Castiel felt his shoulders slump in defeat. Dean smirked and together they began their way back towards their current lodgings.

The snowfall was steadily increasing in strength, obscuring most of Castiel’s view as the small flakes got caught in his lashes. Beside him, Dean kept on a continuous string of cursing and the occasional exclamation of ‘why did it have to be snow?’. If the streets had not been deserted, Castiel had no doubt that Dean’s ranting would have caused a lot of upturned noses and amused laughter.

“Dean?” Castiel curled his hands into tight fists, a shiver travelling down his spine. “Why is it so quiet?”

“Guess no one but us is crazy enough to run around in this weather on a Friday afternoon, Featherhead,” Dean wiped at his nose with a low huff, brows furrowed against the wind blowing at their faces.

“I see.” Removing his hands from the depths of the parka’s pockets, Castiel crossed his arms in front of his chest to counteract the odd sensation gnawing at the back of his neck.

He felt as if he was being watched.

A rough jab to the space between his vessel’s shoulder blades caused Castiel to stumble, his arms flailing to prevent his imminent fall. Dean caught him by the shoulders with a huff of surprise, leaving Castiel’s mind spinning as it attempted to understand how the man had moved quickly enough to stop Castiel’s downward momentum.

“You alright?” Dean asked. “Did you trip or something?”

Castiel shook his head, swaying when Dean released him. “Something…,” he hesitated, taking a slow breath of the ice cold air. “Poked me.”

“Poked you?” Dean raised both eyebrows, glancing over his shoulder for a brief moment. “There’s no one here, Featherhead. You sure you didn’t just trip?”

“I felt a forceful push against my upper back, Dean, I am very sure of this.” Turning around, Castiel found himself faced with an empty sidewalk. Three pairs of footprints depressed the otherwise pristine sheet of snow. “We were being followed.”

“What-?” Dean spun on his heel, eyes widening as his brows inched further up his forehead. “…Well, whoever stalked us and poked you in the back was barefoot, that’s for sure.”

“You are taking this very well, Dean,” Castiel noted, arms shifting to wrap around his middle, the sensation of paranoia he had believed to have overcome returning. The realisation that he was too weak to even notice lower creatures creeping along just a few feet behind him left a sour taste on his vessel’s tongue.

“Trust me, I’ve dealt with a lot worse,” Dean muttered, crouching to photograph their newest discovery.

“I see.”

The Hunter rose to his feet once more and pocketed his phone. “Let’s hurry back to the motel. I can’t even feel my fingers anymore.”

They reached the motel without further incidents. Sam was still at the library, seeing as the room was empty upon entering. Castiel did not remove the parka, scuffling towards the cot to seat himself upon the mattress. Dean on the other hand unzipped his jacket and dropped it onto a nearby chair before venturing into the bathroom. For a few minutes, merely the sound of running water pierced the silence.

At last, Dean returned with a towel covering his wet hair, chucking a second one at Castiel’s head. “Take the jacket off and dry that hair of yours. Don’t want you dripping all over the place.”

Castiel obeyed. After a brief fumble with the zipper, the parka was draped over the edge of the cot and Castiel raised both arms to reach for the cloth covering his head. The towel was rough, but clean, soaking up the excess water saturating his hair as well as the small rectangle of thin fabric was able to.

Once his hair was somewhat dry, Castiel stood and carried the soggy towel into the bathroom to drape it over the small heater in the corner. When he turned to walk back into the main room, his attention was drawn to the mirror. Jimmy’s face was still jarring to look at, the sensation of detachment a tight fist in his chest.

The cold outside had left its marks. There was a slight red tinge to Jimmy’s nose and his lips were chapped, the pallor of his skin enhanced by the blood rushing in to warm his cheeks. Castiel shook his head, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Jimmy was gone.

Blue eyes, abnormal in their intensity, stared back at him from the mirror. His own.

Jimmy was gone.

Castiel was still here.


	4. Needletooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again I want to apologise for messing up the chapters the last time, it's now fixed. I hope you have been enjoying the story so far, the Supernatural fandom is not very forthcoming when it comes to leaving comments, it seems!

Sam’s return was one of quiet excitement, carefully contained and only visible through the gleam in the younger man’s eyes. The young Hunter dropped a small stack of print-outs onto the small table Dean was sitting at, eliciting a noise of complaint from his older brother. Castiel did not move from his place on the cot, blanket wrapped around him while he fought the urge to bury his face in the soft pillow supporting his head.

“Been busy, I see,” Dean drawled.

“Uh-huh,” Sam nodded. “I didn’t think I’d find so much information at first, to be honest. What about you, did you find anything?”

Dean nodded and rose from his seat and Castiel was confused when the man stepped around the bed to move towards him. Sudden understanding washed over him when Dean picked up the parka he had given to Castiel. A moment later, the confusion returned when Dean froze, ceasing all movements.

“Dean?” Sam stood. “What’s wrong?”

Dean dropped the parka onto the bed and gestured at the hole in the back, the material corroded where a familiar greenish gel had dried. Castiel frowned and gasped when Dean dragged him upright, removing the blanket from around his shoulders. The warmth of Dean’s hands seeped through Castiel’s pullover, chasing the cold away that had settled within the thin barrier of skin and bones he hid his true form in.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice cut through the tense silence, halting Dean’s hands where they had been tugging the too-large sweater upwards. “What happened? What is that?”

“That freak followed us down the sidewalk,” Dean snarled. “We didn’t realise until it jabbed Featherhead over here in the back.”

Stomping footsteps indicated Sam’s hurry to reach Castiel’s resting place. “Is he injured? Castiel, are you alright?”

“I am fine,” Castiel answered, unsure.

“Here,” Dean’s rough palm came to rest just underneath Castiel’s left shoulder blade. “It pierced the skin. Not a lot, but still. You sure you’re feeling alright? No dizziness, nothing?”

Castiel shook his head. “I am exhausted, but that has nothing to do with this. The… the area does feel slightly numb, however.”

“Alright, so it’s likely not venomous,” Sam said, coming to crouch beside the cot in front of Castiel.

“And if it was, we’d have no way to counteract it,” Dean growled, tugging Castiel’s clothes back into place with a gruff jerk.

“But the kids had puncture marks, too, that’s what Olivia said and none of the kids succumbed to some kind of poisoning, yet. I’m guessing it’s to numb the area, like, uh, mosquitoes do,” Sam offered an encouraging smile to Castiel, “Tell us if anything changes, alright?”

Dragging the dislodged blanket back over his shoulders, Castiel gave a small nod. While Dean’s proximity had prompted his body to start producing warmth, it did nothing to alleviate the uncomfortable sensation knotting his insides. The duvet, as ridiculous as it seemed, provided a similar comfort to the one he had experienced whenever Gabriel wrapped his wings around him.

Dean moved away and retrieved the claw from Castiel’s parka, holding it out to Sam, “This is what I wanted to show you. It was stuck in the same wall Olivia Wilson showed us a photo of. We also found a bunch of holes in the wall around the elementary school, I took pictures.”

Sam accepted the claw, turning it over as he shifted to sit down on the edge of the cot. “Looks like a-”

“Lamia’s claw? Yeah, that’s what Featherhead thought, too. But it’s not the right colour and way too long,” Dean shrugged, rubbing a hand over his short hair.

Sam gestured towards the table with one hand, “Can you get the print-outs, Dean? There’s a lot of stuff I found, even if it’s probably not as impressive as your claw here…”

A few seconds later, the cot and Castiel’s lap were repurposed as a table top to spread the papers covered in scanned photographs and online recounts of old newspaper articles out on. Dean dropped down on the ground, leaning his back against the nearby bed. “Alright, Sammy, what’d you find?”

“Get this,” Sam reached for one of the papers, holding it up to show the photograph depicting a wall riddled with a number of familiar holes, “About twenty years ago, people started noticing scratches and something they described as ‘drilling holes’ all over town, especially around the elementary school and the playgrounds. There’s articles about those for weeks and at some point, people start complaining about odd noises during the night. They talk about scraping and hissing sounds but no one could figure out what was causing them.

“About three months after the scratches started to appear, a little girl went missing. The entire town was questioned by the police, people were investigated and the forest across the river was searched. Nothing. Over the next few days, four more children and a young couple vanish.”

Dean frowned. “That thing kidnaps five children and then decides to go for two grown-ups?”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. At first, I thought maybe the couple had something to do with this, because, why would something or someone change targets like that, right? But then, I decided to dig a little deeper and found more. Fifteen years before all those children and the couple went missing, a young woman disappeared in the middle of the day. No one saw anything. Two weeks later, a jogger found her at the edge of the forest. She was alive, but barely, her back and upper chest covered in scratches and puncture wounds.”

Dean nodded, a deep furrow between his brows. “Alright, so the thing’s mostly after children, but it doesn’t say no to people around the age of twenty, am I getting this right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam scratched at his cheek. “There’s also… the woman who was found alive… when the police questioned her about what happened, she kept talking about a ‘woman with two faces’. Everyone thought maybe she was talking about a mask or guessed she was simply so shocked by what had occurred that she couldn’t remember properly.”

“Two faces?” Dean raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching, “So, do we call the thing-”

“If you make a Batman joke, I will strangle you, Dean,” Sam deadpanned, the expression upon his face indicating that this was something the young Hunter dealt with on a weekly basis.

“You’re no fun.”

Sam began to gather up the papers again and Castiel attempted to help, movements sluggish and even his inner eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on what he was reaching for. Dean cleared his throat, dragging Castiel’s attention away from the print-outs. “Is something wrong, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “You look like shit.”

“Dean. Stop being a jerk,” Sam admonished. “What Dean is trying to say is, you don’t look well. Are you in pain?”

Castiel curled his fingers around the edges of the blanket, nails straining the fabric. “No. I feel… tired. The room also appears to be swaying from side to side when I move my head.”

“You should lie down.” Sam got off the cot. “Get some sleep, or… uh, whatever it is you do when you don’t respond to anything we say?”

“Fainting is what you mean, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself to his feet.

Ignoring Dean’s quip, Castiel drowned out the argument that followed and curled up around the lumpy pillow. Eyes falling shut, he did not shift when Sam’s careful hands tucked the duvet tighter around his shoulders nor did he react when, a minute later, a second blanket settled over him.

Silence greeted Castiel when he fought his way back to consciousness. The motel room was empty, the curtains drawn which cast the room into almost complete darkness. Allowing the blankets to slip down as he sat up, Castiel got off the cot and tottering along the wall to reach the light switch.

The sudden brightness forced all of his eyes, both human and celestial, shut. It took a minute before he was able to squint at his surroundings, noticing the small piece of paper taped to the front door. Upon stepping closer, he also realised that someone had poured a line of salt close to the doorway. For protection.

The paper had been written on, Sam’s neat script spelling out the words; _Gone to get food. We’ll be back soon. Left my phone on the table just in case. – Sam_

Castiel removed the paper, folding it and setting it down on the table beside Sam’s phone. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the light filtering in through the window was the sickly orange of a streetlamp, indicating that it had gone dark while he slept.

From the window came a low scraping sound.

The noise prompted Castiel to freeze, an instinct he had not realised he possessed forcing him to stay perfectly still. The scratching continued, growing louder, more insistent. Castiel found himself relieved that the thick curtains obscured his view, the tangled knot of ice cold fear heavy in his stomach. If it came inside, he would be unable to fight it off.

He was trapped.

Weak knees gave in beneath Castiel, hands moving to stop his downward momentum by grabbing onto the edge of the table. Without questioning his own actions, Castiel grabbed the phone and crawled beneath the table, pressing his back against the wall it was standing by. Legs tucked close to his chest, Castiel’s fingers shook as he attempted to figure out how to alert Sam and Dean of his predicament.

The noise stopped abruptly a moment later and there was silence once again. Dropping the phone, Castiel took a deep breath and allowed his head to rest upon his knees while his hands moved to press against his stomach. Never had Castiel felt so helpless, not even when he first saw how very small and fragile Samandriel had become to escape Heaven, the emotion so alien back then it had threatened to overwhelm him.

For the first time since he agreed to help Samandriel, Castiel doubted his competences to actually do so. Earth was so much more complicated to navigate than Heaven. There were rules, but each could be bent, it was loud and lonely and cold in a way Heaven never was.

Castiel did not dare remove himself from his hiding spot until a number of minutes had passed, scuttling towards the window as soon as he managed to push himself onto his feet.

Pushing the curtain aside, Castiel felt his body grow cold. Not only was he faced with the marks the creature had scored on the windowpane, but the being that caused them was standing just outside the window, breath fogging the glass.

It was hideous. Like nothing Castiel had ever seen before, his human brain unable to deal with the constant shift of the monstrosity’s features. Nothing seemed to stay where it should, every time Castiel attempted to focus his gaze, his vision blurred. Its clawed hands lay pressed against the window, elbows extending into sharp spikes, dripping with a thick ooze.

For a moment, the creature’s eyes flickered, the colour of a rainforest glimmering back at Castiel instead of milky grey, surrounded by healthy skin and faint freckles. The snow seemed to hesitate, floating suspended in mid fall, like diamond dust.

Then, the glass cracked and Dean’s face was replaced by a screeching mouth full of needle-thin teeth.

His eyes opened for the second time. Castiel’s chest trembled with each burst of air it drew, his fingers cramping where they clutched the blankets. A hand touched his forehead, prompting him to lash out, Grace shimmering through his skin for a brief second.

“Whoa!” Dean’s voice cut through his panic. “It’s just me. Calm down, Featherhead.”

Castiel swallowed, releasing Dean’s wrist where he had gripped it. A deep bruise in the shape of Castiel’s fingers was left behind. “My apologies.”

The Hunter grimaced. “Guess you’re not as helpless as before, huh? Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare you had there.”

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah, you fell asleep before Sam and I went to get some food. Sam was the one who insisted on leaving that message, by the way. When we came back, you were lying under the table. We put you back in bed, ‘cause Sam said leaving you on the floor would be mean. I thought it’d be funny, but, hey,” Dean shrugged, vaguely gesturing at Sam who was sitting at the small table and eating salad from a carton box. “So, wanna tell us why you were under the table in the first place?”

Had Castiel _dreamed_ it all? If he had, which should have been impossible, seeing as he was an angel, why had he been underneath the table?

Castiel frowned. “I… I am not sure.”

“Not sure why you were under the table?”

Castiel nodded. “When I woke, I found Sam’s message and intended to lie down again, when I heard a scratching sound from the window. It continued on for a long time and I was frightened by the thought of… the creature coming inside. I hid beneath the table,” embarrassment flooded him and he felt his cheeks burn with an overabundance of blood, “Although I am now aware that it would not have done anything to prevent whatever was outside from getting to me. I tried to use the phone to call you, but before I was able to find out how, the scratching stopped.”

“You’re telling me that thing was here?” Dean gaped, then stood and moved around the cot to drag the curtains open; the glass was unmarred.

“Yes, but… I was not finished,” Castiel cleared his throat, “I waited for a few minutes, then moved to look out of the window. It… the creature was standing outside, looking at me. I think I understand now what the children meant when they said they were not being able to look at the woman they thought they saw. I could not see the creature’s face. It… was like it was blurring right in front of me. But I did see its claws and some sort of thorns growing from its elbows. It also… stole your face for a moment, Dean, before it attacked me.”

“Stole my face? Attacked you?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Featherhead, there’s absolutely no evidence of it having been here in the first place.”

“I am aware,” Castiel answered, frustration mounting as he attempted to unravel the mystery of what had occurred during the time he had, apparently, been sleeping. “But that is what I remember. It was screeching at me just before I awoke.”

Sam, whom Castiel had forgotten was present, suddenly stood from his seat at the table, startling both Castiel and Dean. “It’s a Two Face!”

“You told me not to make a Batman joke but you’re allowed?” Dean grumbled.

“No,” Sam sighed, seated himself once more and turned his laptop towards Dean and Castiel. “I’ve been searching through the database I set up on my computer and that’s what I found. I knew it sounded familiar!”

A long scroll of text and the distinct drawing of a gangly figure were revealed. The sight of those long claws and spiked elbows in combination with the eerily accurate depiction of the creature’s needle-like teeth, sent a shiver down Castiel’s spine.

Dean made an impatient gesture for Sam to continue. “Well? Tell us what else you found, genius.”

Sam grumbled and began to speak, “’Two Face’ is what the Omaha tribe named these things. That, and ‘Sharp Elbows’. They stalk their prey, prod at them and sometimes inject a slow-acting hallucinogenic into their victim’s bloodstream via the stingers growing from their elbows to, uh, ‘scare them with visions of their impending death’. They, apparently, enjoy doing these things.” Sam waved his hand through the air. “Kinda like a cat playing with a mouse before eating it, you know? The hallucinations can be very vivid, going as far as to force people into doing things like attacking their bed partners due to thinking they’re the Two Face.”

Castiel frowned. Had he hallucinated his meeting with the Two Face? It would explain why he had been unable to tap into his own Grace or why the snowfall had stopped for no apparent reason before the window cracked. And… of course, the window, which was not damaged, like it would have been, had what he seen been real. 

It should have been a relief, the fact that the Two Face had not located them and decided to seek them out. However, the thought of reacting in such a violent way to something that, had he been at full strength, would not have phased him in the slightest, was horrifying. More so than the hallucination itself. Because, while he knew he had time left, it seemed to be running out much quicker than it should.

“Great, so, we know what it is and that Featherbrain over there hasn’t gone completely cuckoo,” Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How do we kill it?”

“An iron arrow to the heart,” Sam answered, shrugging as he frowned. “No idea how we’re supposed to pull that off, though. Neither of us knows how to use a bow.”

Dean hummed. “I’m sure we can figure something out. We always do. Also, when have these information dumps you put on your computer ever been a hundred percent accurate?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam shut the laptop. “I guess we could just use whatever sharp tool we find that’s made of iron to stab the Two Face with.”

“Sounds good.”

Castiel lowered his gaze to pick at the edge of the blankets. While his apparent nightmare helped the two Hunters ascertain as to what they were dealing with, he wondered if he would be of any help at all in apprehending the creature. His Grace had regenerated somewhat, considering the bruising he left on Dean’s arm, but would it be enough to assist them if things took a turn for the worse?

Not to mention that he had made no progress in finding the Righteous Man.

A paper cup was pressed into his hands and Castiel wrapped his fingers around the warmth it radiated. Looking up, he found Dean crouched in front of him, the man’s face made of hard lines and carefully suppressed worry.

“I know, angels don’t need food or anything,” Dean said and Castiel was a little surprised by the gentle tone the man used to speak to him. “But Sam insisted on buying you tea, so you better drink it. You look like you need it.”

“Sure, _I_ insisted,” Sam muttered.

Castiel blinked, then nodded and lifted the cup towards his face. The scent of warm apples and herbs wafted upwards alongside the tendrils of steam licking at Castiel’s face. Tilting the paper cup against his lips, Castiel nipped at the liquid. The tea had been sweetened and drove off the chill lingering in Castiel’s bones.

“Good?” Dean asked when Castiel lowered the cup.

“Yes, thank you.” Castiel reached out, fingers brushing the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. “May I?”

“Huh? What?” the hunter frowned, turning his hand over as he held it out to Castiel. “What do you need my arm for?”

“I wish to heal the damage I caused.” Forcing his Grace to the surface, Castiel touched two fingers to the man’s hand and send out a series of soft pulses.

“Heal the- whoa!” The bruising disappeared, slower than it usually would, leaving no sign of an injury behind. Dean gave a surprised hum, tugging his limb away as soon as Castiel ceased healing it. “Okay, so, I didn’t know you guys could heal anything other than yourselves. That’s pretty neat.”

“If you’d read more books instead of comics, Dean, maybe you’d know these things,” Sam quipped.

“I do read books, Sammy.” Dean walked away from Castiel’s cot and towards the bathroom. “Not all the time and not every damn book I find, but I do read books. I’m gonna take a hot shower and you can figure out what we could use to kill Harvey Dent with.”

Was Harvey Dent someone Castiel was supposed to know? Maybe Dean was making another reference and Castiel would need to ask the man about it later.

Sam gave a loud groan and sagged in his seat. “Dean, why!”

Dean’s laughter was muffled by the shutting of the bathroom door.


	5. Bloodstain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the sweet comments and the kudos I received! I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far!   
> Again, sorry for any errors!

Finding the Two Face’s hideout turned out to be a lot more difficult than expected. It was truly no wonder that no one had found it in all these years. After all, the only reason why they were so close to ending the Two Face’s reign of terror, was because Castiel had been able to scrape together enough Grace to follow the trail of violence and _wrongness_ left by the Two Face.

It still took them over four hours to come anywhere close to the place the foul sensation of brutality billowed out from, the forest too thick to manoeuvre through comfortably. Sam in particular was having a hard time evading roots while pushing aside low-hanging branches to avoid smacking into them.

Sam’s efforts were but mildly productive, seeing as, in the end, all he managed was to shake the snow off the branches and onto his head. Dean snorted, shoulders shaking with mirth and Castiel was forced to stifle his smile until it was wiped away by the sudden sense of dread wafting over him.

“This is it,” was all he said, his voice just above a whisper.

The small cabin, hidden within the thicket by the myriads of bare vines and snow covering its surface, was filled with the stale air and the stench of something rotten. At first glance, though, there was nothing to see but an empty room, shrouded in darkness broken only by the dim light spilling in through the open door.  

Hundreds of scratch marks and dark stains were revealed as soon as the cabin’s interior had been sufficiently illuminated by Dean’s flashlight. Dean huffed, “Huh, guess your angel mojo _does_ work, Featherhead. Nice job.”

Castiel did not respond but wrapped his arms around himself, watching as Dean began to knock against each wall before crouching to inspect the floor. Sam, standing beside Castiel, kept his eyes on the snow covered area outside, eyes flitting from one crooked tree trunk to the next.

An eerie silence engulfed the forest, as if every creature had been chased into hiding. The twisted trees surrounding the cabin stretched their branches towards the grey sky, resembling a mass of broken arms, painted a deathly white by the snow.

In the furthermost corner of the empty cabin, Dean seemed to find what he had been searching for, raising a hand to wave at them, “Sammy, there’s something like a trap door here- it’s stuck, though, can you give me a hand?”

Sam moved and shuffled towards his brother, but not before pressing the large hunting knife into Castiel’s inexperienced hands. “Just in case. Keep an eye on the door, okay?”

Castiel gave a slow nod, toddling after Sam but turning around to face the door as soon as they reached the place where Dean was kneeling. The cold air streaming in from the forest was tinged with a solemn stillness, as if Nature itself knew that the cabin likely harboured a graveyard. A loud squeak followed by a hollow thud pulled Castiel’s focus back towards the two Hunters.

The trapdoor had been wrenched open, revealing a dark, rectangular hole in the ground. The sight chased another shiver down Castiel’s spine.

“There’s a ladder,” Sam said, taking the knife back from Castiel. “Looks pretty rusty, though. You think it’s safe?”

“Only one way to find out,” Dean sighed.

Their descent was a slow one and Castiel, who had been forced to go last, had trouble manoeuvring his body through the unfamiliar motions of using a ladder. The rungs were slippery and Sam went as far as to pluck Castiel off the rungs to place him onto the floor below, after Castiel had slipped for the third time.

The ground was made of packed earth, the walls constructed out of wooden planks and steel rods. The atmosphere was suffocating, the smell of dry dirt settling over Castiel’s lungs and his Grace shuddered at the cloying residue of death left in the air. The pressure on his chest vanished a moment later, but the tremble in his Grace stayed.

Dean was the first to move, the glare of the flashlight ghosting over the uneven walls. Shadows danced wherever the light fell and the hallway seemed to stretch and contract with every flicker.

The corridor lead towards a covered hole in the wall before continuing down a sharp bent. Dean pushed aside the constellation of wooden planks, bound together to form a crude door, revealing a large room filled with piles of clothing and human remains. Tilting his head to the side, Dean waved to where the hallway vanished into the darkness to their left, “Looks like this is where that maniac kept what was left of their victims. Wonder if that’s all though, the hallway is probably a lot longer, still.”

Sam hummed, “I’ll check if there’s any more rooms. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, be careful, alright?”

Another flashlight was clicked on and, with a nod, Sam proceeded down the corridor. Castiel decided to shuffle into the room after Dean, one hand raised to guard his nose from the scent of decay, the other curling into the front of his jacket.

Although Castiel’s senses were dulled, he was still shaken by the sheer amount of unadulterated terror soaking every inch of the room. Dean’s flashlight made the dried bloodstains that had ingrained themselves into the ground visible. Small, broken teeth became glaring spots of brightness among the greyed colours dominating the room.

Castiel had thought the time spent listening to Michael and Gabriel’s tales of war would have desensitized him towards these kinds of horrors. _They had not_. Unable to lift his feet in fear of stepping on a wayward bone, Castiel stayed close by the doorway while Dean was surveying the mounds of ruined garments.

“I’ve seen fucking Wendigo lairs that were less disgusting,” Dean muttered, nudging at a balled up pair of jeans with his boot.

Licking at his cracked lips, Castiel followed Dean’s journey through the room with watchful eyes. The entire chamber seemed to stretch outwards endlessly and Dean was cursing by the time he reached the wall opposite the makeshift door, which he began to meticulously knock against, likely to see if there was another room somewhere.

A scrape followed by a hiss startled them both. Claws scrabbled across the floor of packed dirt, thin limbs adorned with deadly spikes bending and stretching with unnatural speed. A gnashing maw released a number of gurgling growls as the Two Face launched itself forward, its attack resembling those done in vicious desperation by cornered snakes.

The flashlight dropped to the ground when the creature knocked into Dean, forcing a rough yell from the Hunter. The sound of tearing fabric and pained grunts urged Castiel into action. Searing its way through his chest was the fierce need to protect - to safe. It overwhelmed the exhaustion that had taken residence within Castiel’s body for weeks and propelled Castiel forward, caution discarded for now.

It was not hard to find Dean and his attacker, even in the darkness. Castiel’s hands, burning bright with the Grace he had forced to the surface, came in contact with a bony spine. Rough, paper thin skin frayed beneath Castiel’s fingers, the stench of burnt flesh permeating the air. The Two Face uttered an ear shattering screech before it scuttled away, vanishing out the entrance to the room.

Ice rushed through Castiel’s every muscle a second after the creature’s escape, constricting his lungs as his knees gave in.

“ _Cas_!” Dean’s hoarse outcry only just reached Castiel’s ears, warm hands clutching at his shoulders for a second before the sound of Sam’s screaming compelled the Hunter to abandon Castiel on the ground.

Unfocused eyes trained on the flickering shimmer of Dean’s abandoned flashlight, Castiel was forced to remain where he had fallen, his body refusing to respond to even the smallest of orders. High pitched screeching pierced through the dust laden air, followed by a number of curses that Castiel, even if he had understood them, deemed unworthy of repetition.

A moment later, his vision began to grey at the edges and he gave up on staying awake a mere heartbeat after.

Between blood stains and bones, Castiel allowed his eyes to fall shut, noting the hint of sulphur in the air just before his consciousness faded.

Castiel woke to the scent of disinfectant and wet leather. Music sounded from the left side, too quiet to discern individual words. A soft mound of cloth supported Castiel’s head, the fabric smelling of cotton and dried blood. Cold air brushed across his cheeks, chasing away the weight keeping Castiel’s eyes closed. The angel repelling sigils above him clued him into the fact that he was lying in the backseat of Dean’s beloved Impala.

Again.

The door by his head was opened and a bandaged hand touched his cheek, startling Castiel enough to lure a confused whine from his mouth. “Cas? It’s just me. You all there, yet?”

Dean leaned over him, left eye framed by a darkening bruise and mouth twisted to the side in a lopsided grin. Castiel licked his dry lips and inclined his head in a nod, his voice a mere wheeze when he responded, “Yes… what happened?”

“You saved me from getting my ass kicked by that fucking Two Face and passed out. Sam said you should be glad you’re not actually human. All that fainting would’ve given you brain damage by now,” Dean removed his hand with a tiny shrug.  

“I heard Sam scream. Is he injured?” Castiel asked, pushing himself into an upright position and ignoring the weakness in his limbs.

“Sammy’s just a little scratched up and his left arm was dislocated. We had to stop by a hospital to get it fixed, and I lied my ass off about a bar fight when the nurses started asking questions,” Dean answered.

“What about the Two Face?”

“Sam got cornered by the bastard and I had to rush in to save him. You didn’t miss a lot, it was kinda anticlimactic. Sam tripped over his shoelaces and distracted the Two Face enough for me to stab it in the chest. And since we can’t just leave all those bodies there, Sam used a prepaid phone to make an anonymous call to the police so they can take the victims back to their families.”

Relief flooded Castiel’s chest and he sighed. “I see. That is good.”

Dean nodded, turning his gaze away and towards the entrance of the tiny restaurant. “Mhmm. We’re parked in front of a diner, Sam had to go and I needed some pie. You hungry? I mean, you practically inhaled that burger yesterday.”

“Some food would be appreciated, yes. I believe it allows me to preserve my Grace, since I am not longer relying on only my own strength to keep this body healthy,” Castiel said, then frowned. “Go where?”

“Toilet, Cas. He had to go to the toilet.” Dean crouched and rummaged through the bag sitting in the foot space between the front and backseats, removing a wrapped sandwich from its depths. “Here, have at it.”

“You are no longer calling me ‘Featherhead’,” Castiel said, plucking apart the paper wrapping, “Why is that?”

The Hunter shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Thought you deserved better after saving me from getting skewered. Not gonna call you Castiel, though, that’s a mouthful, who came up with these damn names?”

“My name is one of the shortest among my sisters and brothers,” Castiel offered, taking a small bite from the sandwich.

Dean opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a loud thud close by followed by a pained groan. Peering past Dean, Castiel found that Sam had somehow fallen and was now sprawled out on the ground, his hat slipping downwards to cover most of the young man’s face. An inelegant guffaw forced itself from Dean’s throat and the Hunter pushed away from the Impala to help his brother to his feet.

“Next time, I’m tying your shoes, Sammy,” Dean said as he pulled Sam up. “This is getting embarrassing.”

Sam pouted, tightening the Velcro that kept the medical arm sling in place. “Dean, stop bringing it up, I’m twenty not four!”

“Well, stop giving me ammunition then and learn to tie your freaking shoes properly, Sammy.”

Castiel was able to finish his sandwich and a bottle of water before the two brothers managed to end their bickering. Still too tired to care about the obligatory blindfold, Castiel allowed Dean to cover his face before settling down once more to rest.

Hours later, the car came to a halt. Castiel did not move as the two brothers exited the Impala, listening to the sound of them removing their belongings from the trunk. Instead, he focused inwards, observing the way his Grace had integrated itself into his vessel. Tendrils of light had woven themselves into myriads of nerves, infusing the body in a way a human soul would, the excess Grace balling up in the area of his abdomen to shield Samandriel.

It had been a surprise for Castiel to find that his Grace was still strong enough to consider any part of it as ‘excess’. However, it seemed the regular ‘sleep’ he was getting and the few times Dean forced him to drink and eat had helped replenish his energy considerably.

The soft tugging in his chest that kept reminding him of his mission to find the Righteous Man had also become stronger again. However, in place of the insistent, guiding pull Castiel had hoped for, there was only a faint sense of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ that, in the end, told him nothing at all.

Sam’s uninjured hand wrapped around Castiel’s elbow, urging him from the car and into the warmth of the Bunker before removing the blindfold with some difficulty. The lights had been turned on and Castiel raised one hand to shield his eyes for a second.

Sam chuckled, “Yeah, I never liked being blindfolded either.”

“What kind of situation required for you to be blindfolded?” Castiel asked, eyes ghosting over the bandage wrapped around Sam’s throat.

“Uh, I can’t remember much of what happened, I got knocked out. I woke up in the middle of a nest of vampires. That was fun,” Sam sighed. “They turned out nice in the end, but it was still pretty uncomfortable. Especially when Dean came bursting in-”

“Hey, I thought you were about to get mauled by a bunch of bloodsuckers,” Dean grumbled as he emerged from the kitchen, a bottle of beer in one hand. “Give me a fucking break here.”

Sam shook his head and dropped down onto one of the chairs close by. “Yeah, whatever, Dean. Charlie wrote, she said she’d be coming over for dinner, by the way.”

“What? I thought she was gonna go out with Jo today!”

“Apparently not. I… kinda told her that we took in an angel, and now she wants to meet Castiel…,” Sam grimaced, ducking his head. “At least it’s only her, right?”

Dean covered his face with one hand, then took a swig from his beer. Castiel lowered himself onto the seat beside Sam, waiting for Dean’s reaction. Two minutes of silence later, Dean finally opened his mouth to speak again, “Right, okay. I’m making burgers and fries. No salad, you don’t deserve any for not keeping your damn mouth shut.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Sam muttered, a pout curling his mouth downward.

“Don’t even start with that. You gossip more than our old neighbour back in Kansas!”

“But you like Charlie!” Sam whined. “And I’m injured!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s gonna ask a bunch of uncomfortable questions and you’re to blame, Sammy.” Dean finished his beer and made to leave the room, “Don’t even try with the puppy dog eyes. I’m gonna take a shower. Keep an eye on the angel while I’m gone, he looks even worse than usual.”

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” Sam muttered.

With a rude gesture thrown over his shoulder, Dean exited the living room area. Sam leaned back in his seat, running his good hand down his face, looking pale and tired. Clearing his throat, Castiel pointed at the couch, “I believe you should lie down, Sam. You look unwell.”

“I’m okay. The painkillers are just wearing off,” Sam’s smile was strained.

Castiel tilted his head. “Very well. May I ask who this Charlie you were speaking of is?”

“Dean’s best friend. She’s kind of like a sister to us. Just to warn you, she, uh, asks really personal questions sometimes,” Sam winced, as if he was plagued by an uncomfortable memory. “Charlie also lacks a brain to mouth filter. So, kind of like Dean, only with more… exuberance mixed in. And a distinct ignorance when it comes to things like ‘too much information’… you know?”

Castiel did not know, but he nodded nonetheless. “I see.”

Sam snorted. “You’ll get it when you meet her, trust me.”

“If you say so, Sam.” Castiel inclined his head.

“Yeah…,” Sam trailed off, a frown creasing his forehead. “I really hope Dean won’t be taking too long. I really need to wash my hair.”

As it turned out, Sam would have not needed to worry. An hour later, all of them were showered and dressed in clean clothes, a steaming pot of tea surrounded by three mugs sitting on the coffee table. Dean had collected a number of books to keep Sam entertained and dropped them onto his brother’s lap, ignoring the indignant squawk it elicited.

“Unless you gotta pee, you’re not leaving this couch,” Dean declared before marching towards the kitchen. “You’ll knock your skull loose, for all that I know.”

Sam huffed and opened the first book his fingers skimmed over. “Whatever.”

Castiel hovered by the coffee table for a moment, unsure where to go from here now that he was faced with an undetermined amount of time to spend and nothing to do. He filled one of the mugs with tea, cradling it between his cold hands as he lowered himself onto the cushioned chair close by.

Taking a sip, Castiel breathed a sigh of content as the hot tea settled in his stomach, radiating warmth and chasing the chill from his bones. Soft music floated from the kitchen, accompanying the sound of rustling paper whenever Sam turned a page. Castiel’s mug was half-empty and Sam fast asleep, when he found himself standing and moving towards the kitchen, drawn in by the noise Dean created as he cooked.

The sight that greeted Castiel upon reaching the entrance to the kitchen was a peculiar one.

Dean stood by the kitchen counter, hands buried in a bowl of minced meat as the man mouthed along to the song coming from the radio in the corner. Unable to help himself, Castiel smiled before clearing his throat to raise attention to his presence.

Dean turned his head, lips parted in song. A slow blink transformed the Hunter’s relaxed face into one of embarrassed anger. “Dammit, Cas, do you have to sneak up on everyone?”

“It was not my intention to ‘sneak up on you’,” Castiel answered, moving closer to peer into the bowl.

“Whatever,” Dean huffed. “There something you need?”

“No,” Castiel shook his head, “I was merely… curious as to what you were doing. Is cooking difficult?”

“At first, yeah, I guess.” Dean’s tense posture softened. “Why? You wanna help?”

Castiel frowned. “I cannot cook. I doubt I will be of much help, Dean.”

Dean gestured towards the cutting board. “You can manage cutting vegetables for Sam-I -Am, right? Just get some bell peppers and that cucumber from the fridge. Should be enough to satisfy that health junky.”

With a nod, Castiel did as he was told, retrieving yellow and red bell peppers, and a cucumber from the fridge to carry them towards the cutting board. After a quick explanation as to what he was supposed to be doing, Castiel was trusted with a knife and set to work.

They fell into a comfortable routine, the air filled soon filled with the scent of sizzling meat when Dean placed the first burger into the pan sitting on the hotplate. Castiel had painstakingly filled a large bowl with uneven cucumber slices and bell pepper squares, feeling quite accomplished.

“May I ask,” Castiel said as Dean ushered him towards the sink to wash his hands. “Why were you unhappy when Sam announced that Charlie would be coming here?”

“You’ll get it when you meet her,” Dean answered. “I love her like a sister, which is exactly why she shouldn’t be coming around here as much as she does. Our job’s dangerous.”

The sound of a door being slammed open cut off Castiel’s reply.


End file.
